


What You Will

by bizzybee



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Edelgard/Bernadetta, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, References to Shakespeare, Shakespearean Comedy(tm), Spies, Twelfth Night AU, Weddings, bc the world is on fire right now, on temporary hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee
Summary: After being roped into helping Ferdinand woo her own childhood crush, Ingrid has to come to the conclusion that this is not the life she ever thought she'd live. Not only that, but she's constantly worried that Dorothea or Ferdinand will recognize her, despite her new hair and new name.Hubert is busy enough planning his Lady's wedding and running the Mittelfrank spy network with Dorothea. He doesn't need friendship, he certainly doesn't need romance of all things. If he says it enough times, he just knows he'll start to believe it.Ferdinand's new page is a spy, Dorothea's almost certain of it. Something about them looks familiar, but she can't quite place her finger on what it is. She'll listen to their messages, though, if only to gain more information on who they are.Ferdinand is in love with Dorothea Arnault. Knowing he'll need something drastic to win her affections, he hires a messenger to deliver love letters between their two estates. Absolutely nothing can go wrong in this situation, right?
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Hubert von Vestra, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Ferdinand von Aegir & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault (one-sided), Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to this extremely self-indulgent Dorogrid/Ferdibert Twelfth Night AU. While this chapter is more focused on Ferdinand and Hubert's relationship, the screentime between Dorogrid and Ferdibert will be relatively focused half and half throughout the story. 
> 
> Note: Ingrid is nonbinary in this fic. They use any pronouns, but in the exposition, I will use she/her for them to lessen confusion. I'm nonbinary myself, and the character of Viola in Twelfth Night has always struck me as nonbinary. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

On the shores of the South Fódlan Sea, a person appears. Their demeanor gives them a look of permanent wonder, blonde hair and green eyes wide and windswept. Now, though, with the dark circles under their eyes and the seaweed tangled in their clothing, they look permanently lost, instead. 

They pay the captain of their ship. They climb ashore. 

They are not supposed to be here. 

* * *

**Two Moons Later**

* * *

Ferdinand is an insufferable dandy of a man. 

Hubert watches, Dorothea at his side, as he spins around the ballroom, invisible partner in his embrace. 

“Is it just me,” Dorothea mutters out of the corner of her mouth, arms crossed. “Or is he being even more… distinctly  _ Ferdinand  _ lately?”

Hubert puffs out an amused breath of laughter. “It is not just you, Dorothea. He is even more revoltingly sincere than he was during the war.” 

Dorothea hums in agreement.

They both watch as Ferdinand does an imaginary dip, then straightens, calling across the room to the two of them. “What do you two think? Quite a romantic choice, yes?” 

Hubert purses his lips, hating the vision of Ferdinand’s pink cheeks, chest heaving as he catches his breath, despite nearly a room’s length between them. It’s utterly horrible. 

Luckily, Dorothea comes to his aid. “Ferdie, it’s not that it’s not romantic,” she calls. “It’s only, I’m not sure if Edie and Bernie are going to want to dance to such an… energetic number for their first dance?” 

Too late, Hubert realizes Ferdinand’s staring at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for his input. 

“I agree with Dorothea,” he interjects quickly. “Much too loud and much too fast.” 

“Of course you would say that, Hubert,” Ferdinand says, crossing the room and swatting Hubert’s arm playfully. “If it were up to you, I am sure they would be dancing to the Faerghan funeral march!”

Hubert rolls his eyes as Ferdinand and Dorothea laugh at him. “Yes, yes. I’m sure Her Majesty and Lady Bernadetta would love to be reminded of their impending morality. You’re very funny, von Aegir.” 

“Cheer up, Hubie,” Dorothea says, hiding a smile behind her hand. Hubert glares. 

“Yes, Hubert, drop your dreary demeanor,” Ferdinand says. “Our dear friends are getting married! Surely even you must be happy for them.” 

“There is no ‘demeanor’,” Hubert drawls. “This is simply how I am.” 

“Oh, Hubert,” Ferdinand says, an annoying little note in his voice that makes Hubert’s blood boil and then rush to his cheeks. 

Here are two facts about Hubert: 

1\. He loves his friends, even if he is loath to admit it. 

2\. He has the thickest skin in the world. It comes with the job.

But despite these two things, he can’t help but get an uncomfortable itch under his skin whenever Dorothea and Ferdinand tease him like this. It’s not that he doesn’t know they, Goddess,  _ love  _ him, or at the very least enjoy his company. But that doesn’t stop how bothered he becomes over situations like this, no matter how much he would put on the airs that he is the unflappable, unshakable, right hand of the Empire, Goddess be damned.

“Here, Hubert.” He’s broken out of his thoughts when Ferdinand shoves a stack of sheet music into his hands. “If you are so keen on inflicting your own dreadful taste on the rest of us, you may choose the next sample.” 

Hubert tsks, licking a gloved finger and flipping through the sheet music. “You only say I harbor poor taste because I disagree with you on the best soprano in  _ Shadows of Valentia _ .” 

Ferdinand scoffs. “Dorothea agrees with me, do you not, Dorothea?”

“Hm?” Dorothea looks up from where she’s been picking at her nails. 

“That Genny is the best soprano in  _ Shadows _ .” 

Dorothea scrunches her nose, head turning. “Genny, Ferdie? Over Faye?”

“You wound me, Dorothea.” Ferdinand throws the back of his hand over his forehead dramatically.

“You’re both wrong.” Hubert says, tapping the stack of papers against his palm. “Silque. Besides,  _ Shadows  _ isn’t even the best of Mittelfrank’s shows. Truly, Ferdinand, if that is the example you choose, I cringe to think of your taste in other matters.” 

“Oh, Hubie, just hurry up and choose a song,” Dorothea says, dismissively waving a hand.

“Dorothea,” Ferdinand declares. “It is a good thing I still love you, despite your many misgivings, such as objectively wrong opinions on the Opera.” 

“Oh, Ferdie.” Dorothea pats his cheek, sighing. “You don’t love me.” 

“I can assure you, I do,” Ferdinand protests, clinging to her arm. “Oh, Dorothea, I just know that I would treat you with care, you would live a comfortable life, and- Hubert? Where are you going?”

Hubert’s already wandered off, though, towards the practice quartet seated in the corner. He’s had to sit through enough long nights hearing Ferdinand wax all-too poetic on Dorothea Arnault’s many virtues, and, while he’ll indulge his friend when they’re alone, it causes a pang in his chest to see it in action.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s busy, clearly, handing the next sample to the violinist to pass around. He has enough to do here, planning Lady Edelgard and Lady Bernadetta’s wedding. He runs the spy network with Dorothea. He has lots of things to do. He doesn’t mind it, not at all. 

The quartet strikes up Hubert’s pick, and he turns back to see Ferdinand, on his knees, Dorothea’s hand in his. He sighs. He considers leaving. 

But, no. It’s for Lady Edelgard. He will brave Ferdinand’s theatrics for her. 

“This piece,” Hubert says, crossing the room as Ferdinand hurriedly clambers to his feet, brushing off his trousers. “Will appeal to Her Majesty’s particular taste in music. Not only that, but the tune lends itself to a simple enough dance that it will not overwhelm our dear Bernadetta.” 

Dorothea and Ferdinand pause, listening and considering.

“Hubie, you’re a genius,” Dorothea declares after nearly 50 bars.

"It is… permissible," Ferdinand concedes, tilting his head in Hubert's direction. "I suppose, with a few minor adjustments to its key, I would say it might even be usable." 

"A smashing review from the Prime Minister himself," Hubert says dryly.

“Says you,” Ferdinand quips. “I seem to recall you hardly had a kind thing to say at my selection.” 

“That’s because your pick was tasteless," Hubert says.

"Hubie's right." 

"Dorothea, why do you love to hurt me?" Ferdinand groans.

Hubert rolls his eyes. "Right. Well. Now that this is finally settled, Dorothea and I have opera business to attend to." He shares a glance with Dorothea. "Ferdinand, I trust you can make the necessary adjustments to the score as needed?"

"I simply cannot at the moment, I have… private interviews to conduct," Ferdinand says, glancing nervously between the two of them. "Surely your 'opera' business can be performed at a later time-"

"Ferdie-"

"Ferdinand, you know as well as Miss Arnault and I that our business cannot be delayed."

Ferdinand huffs. "If only you would reveal to me what that business actually is, I might just believe you."

And, well, what exactly is Hubert supposed to say to that?

* * *

"Dear Goddess, that was too much," Dorothea curses as they exit the ballroom, crossing the palace grounds. "Is it just me, Hubie, or is Ferdinand-"

"Deeply and irrevocably in love with you?" Hubert drawls. "I would say most signs point to yes."

Dorothea releases her skirts for a moment to rub her temples, groaning. Hubert stops in his tracks, a few footsteps ahead. 

"What?" He asks, turning. 

He doesn't like the forlorn, pitying look in Dorothea's eyes. He doesn't like the way she purses her lips, tilting her head forward. "Hubie," she says, lowly, much too dangerously. 

"What." It's not a question. 

"Are you going to be alright? With Ferdie trying to woo me?" 

Hubert scoffs. "This is what you stopped us for? To inquire after my 'feelings'?" He continues walking, not waiting for Dorothea to catch up. "I can assure you, Dorothea, nothing is able to distract me from my Lady's work." 

"Hubie, we're not in war anymore, we're planning a wedding," Dorothea says bluntly, catching up to his side. 

"Regardless, work is work, and I will not have something as inconsequential as emotions stop me from following orders." 

He can practically hear Dorothea's eyes rolling next to him as she says, "If you say so." 

* * *

The truth of the matter is this: Ingrid Brandl Galatea is not supposed to exist. 

She isn't sure if the new Fódlan believes they found her body in the wreckage of Fhirdiad, or if she's merely been presumed dead after nearly two years’ disappearance, but, regardless, she is, without a doubt, dead. 

In all actuality, she has been spending most of her time in Dagda. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect when she arrived in Enbarr. An instant arrest? A firing squad? 

In fact, neither of these things occurred. 

She thinks it makes sense, actually. She's supposed to be dead, and her skin is tanner, her hair much shorter now after years in the Dagdan sun. Not many people would recognize her now.

It’s been two moons, and it's not as though she's been starving or struggling to an extreme amount since she disembarked once again on Fódlan shores. There's always work to be found, and nobody blinks an eye at Celyn, an experienced yet unknown mercenary like they would at Ingrid, former general in the Kingdom Army. 

Steadier work would be nice, though. A place to sleep. Guaranteed pay. Something being a knight would've given her, had the Kingdom won the war. 

And that is why, when she hears of a page job for a lesser noble, she jumps at the chance. Sure, it's rough, demeaning work, but if it means she can get paid once a week for something other than killing thieves and beasts, she'll take it.

What she isn't expecting; however, is the face of Ferdinand fucking von Aegir, bright and chipper and eyeing Ingrid in a way she doesn't trust, greeting her for the interview. She supposes this is what she gets for trusting the word on the street. Lesser noble, her ass.

Ingrid accepts his handshake, and, to be quite honest, she's not sure if she should bow, or curtsy, or kiss his hand, or… something. She's new to this life as a commoner, and even if she was a poor noble, back in her old life, it's still a whole new world to navigate. 

But Ferdinand seems to be just fine with a handshake, so she doesn't offer more. 

"You seem a bit old to be a page, yes?" Ferdinand asks. 

Ingrid frowns. "You seem a bit young to be a Prime Minister,” she quips back. 

She worries that she's gravely miscalculated Ferdinand for an instant before he bursts into laughter, leaning over, clutching his chest. She didn't think it was  _ that _ funny, but, then again, from what she remembers of Ferdinand, he does tend to find most things humorous. It would be almost sweet, if Ingrid weren't so worried he would recognize her.

"You clearly seem to know who I am," Ferdinand says once he's calmed. "And you are?" 

"Celyn, sir," Ingrid says, nodding her head. 

"Oh, please, my dear boy, call me Ferdinand." Ferdinand claps her on the shoulder. 

"Yes... Ferdinand." 

"Right. Now, Celyn, you seem to be a rather strapping lad-” 

_ Lad _ ?

“And I would love to hire you on.”

“I- Huh?” 

"You see, I am trying to find a certain… look, for a page. You have kind eyes, a round face, pert lips-" 

_ This is getting weird _ , Ingrid thinks.

"-an altogether almost, ah, feminine look about you. I believe that that will suit my needs best."

"What exactly will I be doing, Ferdinand?" 

"I am looking for a messenger."

"Yes."

"To deliver love letters."

"Okay."

"From me, to Miss Dorothea Arnault." 

Ingrid chokes, coughing. 

"Ah! You know of her, yes?" 

"One could… say that." The truth is, Ingrid had harbored a deep amoration for Dorothea while they both attended Garreg Mach all those years ago, but it had never progressed past the flirting stage, and, besides, Ingrid was such a mess back then. Not like now, obviously, applying to be a page for the Prime Minister of United Fódlan in a sack shirt and no socks. 

"Splendid!" Ferdinand says, seemingly unaware of Ingrid's own inner turmoil. 

"And why exactly do you want someone who looks feminine?" 

"Clearly, Dorothea will be less intimidated by someone who looks like a lady." 

"I'm not sure that's the soundest logic-" 

"Now, Celyn," Ferdinand says. "The job is yours, if you'll have it." 

Ingrid considers. 

She can’t be completely sure that Dorothea would recognize her, since Ferdinand didn't, but even still. And delivering love letters to Dorothea of all people, helping someone else woo her - it's all a bit much. 

But, the practical voice in her mind whispers. Food. Money. Bed.

Ingrid holds Ferdinand’s gaze as if her life depends on it. 

"I'm in."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing Dorothea says once Ferdinand's new page leaves is, "I think Celyn's a spy." 
> 
> Hubert sighs. "You can't keep saying that about every person who is immune to your seduction."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Dorogrid week!

The servants quarters of Ferdinand's estate are so grossly opulent that Ingrid, for a moment, wonders why she never thought to join the staff of a noble before.

Of course, she may be a wanted criminal, but besides that. She really must find out more about the state of former Faerghus, whether estates have been reinstituted - anything. She's pretty sure her father is gone, but her siblings? Her mother? 

She can barely start following this train of thought, though, before she's called to come stand before Ferdinand. 

"Celyn," Ferdinand says as Ingrid enters the room, back to her and gazing out the window with his hands tucked behind his back. "Am I an attractive person?" 

"Excuse me?" Ingrid asks, raising an eyebrow.

He turns, a frown on his face. "As in, when you look at me, do I appear to be dashing? Heroic? Handsome?" 

"Sure?" she says, then clears her throat. "I mean, definitely, yes." 

"Then why is it that I cannot find love?" 

"Aren't you and Dorothea…?"

"Alas, not as of yet." Ferdinand sighs, collapsing on a chaise and bringing a hand to his cheek. "Hence why I wanted to hire a messenger. Dorothea is one to prefer a magical romance, and proper courting, and everything I am excellent at."

"And you really think this is going to make her fall in love with you? Sending me?" Silently, she adds,  _ Don't you see her near everyday? Why don't you just talk to her?  _

"Of course," Ferdinand says, frowning. "Why would it not?" 

Ingrid considers this. Would this point be worth losing her shiny new job over? Probably not, she decides. 

"Actually, you're right, Ferdinand," she says, and his immediate reaction almost brings a genuine smile to her face. Let it never be said that Ferdinand von Aegir is a depressing person to be around, Ingrid thinks. His instantaneous grin and clapping of his hands makes her want to share his joy, too. "A messenger is very romantic," she adds. 

"You truly believe so? I thought of it myself." 

"Definitely." 

Ferdinand's eyes melt, then he sighs. "That is a relief." He pauses, fretting his lip for so long that Ingrid wonders if he has forgotten that she's there. 

"Celyn?" Ferdinand says, when the silence has grown long past the brink of uncomfortable. "May I tell you something about myself?"

"Yes, Ferdinand," Ingrid says. 

Ferdinand turns away from her, sighing again, gaze pointedly turned away as though he cannot look at her while speaking. "I do sometimes believe, and at times even realize, that I am a bit much to be around. I am hoping that you will be able to woo Dorothea for me, as while I am well-versed in the language of flattery and romance, whenever a person is around me for too long they tend to grow tired of me very easily.  _ That _ is why you are so important."

Ingrid isn't sure what to say to that. She'd like to deny his claims, but she knows there wouldn't be any truth in the matter. She doesn't even know the nature of Ferdinand and Dorothea's nebulous friendship, and wouldn't be able to assure him that his feelings aren't unfounded. 

Instead, she changes the subject. "So, when am I off to visit Dorothea?"

"Right!" Ferdinand says, his chipper demeanor returning. He stands, patting Ingrid on the shoulder. "If you are all settled in, I was thinking maybe this evening? Dorothea is more prone to accepting messengers after dinner."

"Is she?" 

"Indeed, she is. Now, Celyn, I have written a script for you to follow," Ferdinand says, pulling a slip of folded paper out of his pocket. "I would like you to read this to her verbatim." 

Ingrid takes the slip of paper from him, unfolding it. "This is a poem?" 

"Yes," Ferdinand says. "I do trust you can…" he trails off at the look on Ingrid's face. "What am I saying? Of course you can read."

"Yes, Ferdinand. I can read." Ingrid resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Right! Then it should not be an issue at all."

"Not at all," she agrees. 

"Splendid." He eyes her seriously. "Do not come back without a response." 

Ingrid leans back, eyes wide.

"Oh, Celyn, I am joking," Ferdinand assures her. "Please, the look on your face."

He pushes past her, patting Ingrid on the arm as he leaves the room.

Ingrid reads over the poem. It's sappy stuff, truly, but, she supposes, if Ferdinand thinks it will work… 

Hell, it doesn't matter. No matter what, she's still getting paid. 

* * *

Hubert hates Dorothea's friends. Except, of course, Edelgard. And Ferdinand. And Dorothea herself. 

But besides those three, Hubert could do without Dorothea's tittling and tattling houseguests. 

Tonight, it's Sylvain Jose Gautier and Mercedes von Martritz, sitting around the dining room table and making merry while Dorothea laughs along. 

Frankly, Hubert doesn't mind Mercedes. She's kind, and sweet, and all the things Hubert should hate, but he doesn't. It's Sylvain that's the real issue. Sylvain with his loud laughter and awful stories, slinging his arm around Dorothea that makes Hubert feel all too suspicious of his intentions. 

His first priority is, of course, his Lady, but Dorothea is a close second. Because of their work, yes, but also because, ugh, he's grown to treasure her friendship. 

"Dorothea," Sylvain crows, breaking Hubert out of his thoughts. "I have someone I'd like you to meet during Edelgard's wedding." 

"How did you even get an invitation?" Hubert asks. Sylvain laughs. It wasn't a joke. 

"Anyway," Sylvain continues. "Do you remember Lorenz Hellman Gloucester?"

"Sylvain," Mercedes starts, tone scolding. 

Dorothea frowns. "Lorenz? That kid with the bowl cut from the Academy?" 

"Oh, his hair is much better now," Mercedes says, absentmindedly picking at her food. 

"Regardless," Sylvain says. "He's not my type, but I thought I'd pass him on down to you." 

"You're trying to set me up with Lorenz?" Dorothea asks incredulously.

"Sylvain," Hubert cuts in. "I can assure you that Lady Dorothea has marriage options far superior to that of," he spits out every word, "Lorenz Hellman Gloucester." 

"Well," Sylvain says, drawing the word out. "Look at you, ol' Hubie-Wubie, out here shooting your shot, huh?" 

Hubert coughs, nearly choking.

"Sylvain," Dorothea says, rolling her eyes. "I can assure you that Hubert and I would never-"

"Flames, no, Gautier, I would-"

"-just, no, Sylvain. Goddess, no. Goddess, just the thought of Hubert and I, eugh-" 

Sylvain throws his hands in the air in defeat.

“-I’d rather the  _ Immaculate one- _ ”

"I believe he gets the picture," Hubert grits between his teeth.

Dorothea clears her throat. "Right."

"Regardless, Lorenz is coming down." Sylvain leans back in his chair. "I think you two would get along quite well."

"I'm not so sure," Dorothea says. 

"Yeah, yeah," Sylvain says. "But when have I ever steered you wrong?"

Dorothea dissuades Hubert from answering by laying a hand on his arm. 

“But really,” Sylvain says. “He’s dumb and funny, just like you like them.” 

“Sylvain?” Dorothea says, voice edged with bluntness.

“Yeah?” 

“Pull back while you’re ahead.” 

“Got it.” 

They eat the rest of the meal in relative silence, Sylvain pointedly ignoring the daggers Hubert shoots him from across the table. 

It's only when they're just finishing up that a member of Dorothea's staff arrives with a message in tow. 

"A messenger is outside the gates, Lady Arnault."

"A messenger?" Dorothea asks, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. "From who?"

"From Prime Minister von Aegir, Lady Arnault." 

Dorothea sighs. Hubert looks down, willing the heat rising to his face to tamp down. Mercedes and Sylvain share a curious look, and Sylvain leans in to whisper something in her ear.

"Send the messenger home," Dorothea instructs, waving her hand in dismissal. 

"Ah," they continue. "The messenger says he has been instructed not to depart until you have heard what he has to say." 

Dorothea frowns. "Alright, send him up. Have him wait in the parlor, please."

The caller leaves, and Dorothea sighs again, pushing herself to her feet. "Mercedes, Sylvain, you're welcome to stay as long as you wish. I'm sure you remember how to get to your rooms. Hubert, with me?" 

Hubert waits until they are well out of earshot before speaking. "I simply cannot understand why you continue to allow fools such as Gautier into your home."

"Hubie, I know it must be hard to understand when you only have three friends-" 

"I have… more than three friends."

"- but I can genuinely enjoy someone else's company even if that person is an obnoxious ass." 

He offers her a small smile. “At least you can admit it.” 

Dorothea pauses outside the parlor doors. “You gonna be okay in there?”

“I have no idea what you could mean,” Hubert says through gritted teeth. 

Dorothea gives him a look. “You and I both know that you and Ferdie-” 

Hubert interrupts her by pushing open the parlor door, ignoring the eye roll Dorothea performs behind his back. 

* * *

Ingrid isn’t quite sure what she’s expecting, but the sight of Hubert von Vestra is enough to send her reeling. 

By the time Dorothea follows in behind him, Ingrid is nearly in a panic. This was a terrible idea. An absolutely, horrifically terrible idea. They’re both looking at her, Hubert expectantly, Dorothea with a strange look in her eyes, and Ingrid can feel the blood rising to her cheeks. 

They stand in silence for a moment that stretches on for eternity. Ingrid shifts as Hubert and Dorothea study her. 

“Well?” Dorothea finally says. “What does Ferdinand have to say?” 

“Right,” Ingrid says, clearing her throat. “Right.” She pulls the slip of paper out of her pocket, unfolding it neatly and spreading it flat. “I have been instructed to read this.” 

“Go on,” Dorothea invites.

Glancing down at the paper, then back at Dorothea, Ingrid begins. 

“ _ I often see Dorothea _

_ Never has she an idea _

_ Gone is my heart _

_ Ready to start-”  _

“Okay, no, stop,” Dorothea says, waving one hand. “Dear Goddess, did Ferdinand write this?”

“Yes?” Ingrid says.

Dorothea blinks. “Flames, his skill level has really gone down.” She sits heavily on the couch, sighing. “What’s your name?” 

“Me?”

“I’m certainly not talking to Hubert,” Dorothea says, but she’s smiling. 

“Celyn, Miss.” 

“Goddess, don’t call me a miss,” Dorothea says. “Makes me feel old.” 

“We seem the same age to me, M- Dorothea.” 

Dorothea narrows her eyes. “Where are you from, Celyn?”

Ingrid swallows, the lie coming to her easily. "Used to live on Bergliez territories before coming to Enbarr to find better work." 

"You're looking pretty tan for someone who's worked in Bergliez." 

Ingrid shrugs. "The sun loves me."

Dorothea hums. 

Ingrid waves out the paper. "If you like, I can read the rest of the poem." 

"No, thank you," Dorothea says definitively, standing. "I'm not interested in Ferdinand's attempts to woo me." She steps closer to Ingrid, and Ingrid holds the paper so hard it wrinkles in her hands. "But I am certainly interested in you."

"Me?" Ingrid's quite proud of the way she doesn't even stutter.

"You seem nice, Celyn," Dorothea says. "Sweet, even. And you're not hard to look at." 

"Thank you? But really, Ferdinand wants you to know that-"

"You know what?" Dorothea interrupts, stepping forward again. "Enough about Ferdinand." 

Ingrid resists the urge to take a step back. In fact, she's not sure she's capable of moving right now. Dorothea's close, too close, and she's reminded of those Academy days when Dorothea would move this close, speak the same way, and then pull back before anything happened. 

But Dorothea doesn't pull back this time. Instead, she trails a feather-light touch up Ingrid's arm. "I want to hear more about you, Celyn."

"Uh," Ingrid says, her throat dry.

"Likes? Dislikes?" Dorothea winks. "I'm all ears." 

"F-" and there's the nervous stutter, Ingrid thinks, "Ferdinand says-" 

Dorothea drops her arm, face scrunching into a frown. "Goddess, enough about Ferdinand." She steps back, and Ingrid can breathe again. "You can go home now, Celyn," Dorothea says, moving back to the couch. "Tell Ferdinand I say thanks." 

* * *

The first thing Dorothea says once Ferdinand's new page leaves is, "I think Celyn's a spy." 

Hubert sighs. "You can't keep saying that about every person who is immune to your seductions." 

Dorothea pouts. "Really, though, Hubie. Didn't something about him seem… familiar to you?"

Hubert considers this. "Maybe. I was concentrating more on that vapid excuse of a poem than their face."

"Fair enough." Dorothea bites her lip, and Hubert knows full well what that look on her face means. 

He hates it. 

"You know," Dorothea says, curling a lock of hair behind her ear, "if you wanted to be a dear, Hubie, you could go follow him. See what you can discover." 

"Why me?" 

"I wasn't able to-" 

"I'm not about to try and seduce Ferdinand's page, Dorothea."

"I wasn't expecting you to." Dorothea crosses her arms. "If you had let me finish, my method didn't work, so you should try yours."

"Ah." 

"Here," Dorothea continues, taking off one of her many bracelets. "Bring this to him. Tell him I don't want Ferdinand's gifts." She pouts again at Hubert's frown. "Please, Hubie. Just do it. It's what Edie would want." 

Hubert glares at her halfheartedly. "Fine." 

He's already regretting his decision when he realizes how cold it's gotten since supper. He'd rushed out of Dorothea's home at her insistence without even pausing to collect his cloak. 

"You," he calls just outside of Dorothea's gates. 

Celyn turns, stopping. "What?" 

Hubert catches up, dangling Dorothea's bracelet in front of their face. "Dorothea does not want your Lord's  _ gifts _ ." 

Celyn furrows their brow. "I am not sure-" 

"I don't think you understand," Hubert says, stepping closer and lowering his voice. "Dorothea does not wish to take any gifts from Ferdinand. If you do not wish to be disposed of, then take heed and do as I ask." 

Hubert studies their reaction. Celyn's fear appears to be genuine, and they take a step back. 

"I'll take it," they say quietly. 

"Excellent choice," Hubert says, leaning back. "I've also been instructed to accompany you back to the von Aegir estate." Not entirely true, but-

"You really don't have to-" 

"Ah, but I do," Hubert says, a trace of malice entering his voice again. "Will that be an issue?" 

"No." 

"Correct."

Celyn seems uncomfortable on the walk, and Hubert openly studies them. Their gait suggests at least some military training, but then again, that could mean anything.

"So do you work for Dorothea?" Celyn asks, then winces. 

"I work for Her Majesty," Hubert says. 

"Ah." 

Their silence is comfortable, or at least it is for Hubert. Celyn seems rather ill at ease, constantly shifting and fidgeting, and Hubert's so concentrated on their… strangeness that he barely realizes they're at Ferdinand's estate until the gates are opening for him. 

Ferdinand himself greets them in his foyer. "Celyn!" he calls. "How did it go? Did Dorothea- Oh! Hubert!" 

Hubert nods at him, curt, and doesn't miss how Celyn tucks Dorothea's bracelet into their pocket. Interesting. 

"Celyn," Ferdinand says. "It is getting late. Why don't the two of us reconvene in the morning, yes?" 

Celyn nods. They bow first to Ferdinand, then to Hubert, before scurrying off towards what must be the staff quarters without another word. 

"Hubert," Ferdinand says once they've gone. "Is everything quite alright?" 

Hubert's made a career out of reading people. When it comes down to it, though, he is unable to place the note of… something, in Ferdinand's voice. He's never liked how he can't see right inside Ferdinand's head. 

"Everything is fine," Hubert says. "Why does it matter?" 

"Well, you escorted my page back to my estate-"

"For official reasons between Dorothea and I."

"Do you care to share what those reasons are? Or am I still too dull to understand?" 

"Maybe," Hubert steps forward, voice going dark, "If you would see past this… schoolboy crush of yours and acknowledge that we still live in a dangerous world, people would not think that of you, Ferdinand," he practically spits. "You would rather love a dream than a real lady."

In the empty silence that settles over the hall, Hubert realizes something. 

He may have gone too far.

The look of hurt on Ferdinand's face morphs so quickly into anger that Hubert wonders if he imagined it. 

"You know nothing of me and my feelings," Ferdinand says. "And if you were not such a, a snake then maybe you would listen when a person tries to tell you something for your own good."

"Ferdinand-"

"No," Ferdinand says, jutting his chin in the air not like a petulant child, but like a noble about to invoke their royal wrath. "I will hear nothing more of it. Good night, Hubert. You can see yourself out."

He turns on his heel, amber waves flashing behind him, and leaves Hubert in the parlor. 

Utterly and entirely alone.

**Author's Note:**

> [@bizzybee429 on twitter](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429) [@officialferdinand on tumblr](http://officialferdinand.tumblr.com)


End file.
